tiny alchemist
by hidekey
Summary: Inspired by watching the 4koma theatre eposides.


AN: Inspiration from one of the extras of FMAB that I saw on youtube. What would it be like to have a pocket sized alchemist powerless in your hands?

Disclaimer: yada yada yada

Edward Elric looked down on what was left of Pride. In his hands was a thumb sized and disturbingly naked miniature version of the man who had almost killed him on Briggs mountain, and had just recently saved him from becoming Pride's host body.

"Haiii!" Kimbley said, mocking Edward with an artistic nude pose. Infuriated, Ed threw him to the floor.

Zolf felt his entire body splatter onto the ground, becoming nothing more than a tiny smear before the small amount of power left in the philosopher's stone restored him to his proper shape. _Ugh_, he grimaced. _Now that I know how they feel when they 'die', I don't envy them for it. _

The fullmetal brat had transmuted the rock they were both standing on, to rejoin the fight. Zolf felt okay with this because, after all, even after he was absorbed by Pride, he had wanted an unblocked view of the final outcome. What he hadn't planned on was the daunting jump he'd need to make to get anywhere near the battle. Luck was with him, though, when Mustang and his little lieutenant rushed by and he made for a jump.

Mustang shot fire at the enemy based on Hawkeye's direction. It was good, he felt, that he could still be useful in this battle even if he was... He shook his head, better not to get lost in self-pity until after he saved Amestris. Hawkey suddenly grunted, and Roy heard a soft thump on the ground.

"Hawkeye? Hawkeye, what happened!" He swung his hands out in a desperate attempt to reach her.

"Relax, partner." A voice said near his left ear. "She only fainted. Poor woman looks a wreck. What'd she do, hug Major Elric when he had his blade arm out?"

"What?!" Roy slapped at his ear, hoping that would dislodge the dementia of hearing voices. It didn't

"Hey, watch it buddy! You want me to be a smushed stain on your collar?" Roy shook his head. "Then be careful!"

"I know I'll regret asking this, but... is that you, Kimblee?"

"No, it's the fucking fuhrer!" Kimblee drawled. "What the hell do you think? Hey, hey! troops at 4 o clock!"

"I can't trust you!" Roy cursed under his breath, unsure if this was just a trick to have him attack his own people.

"Damnit, I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart," Kimblee explained impatiently, watching the troops get rapidly closer. "I need you to owe me a favor, and if you're dead I can't collect on it."

"Fine," Roy still hesitated anothe second before sending a gout of flame in the direction indicated. "I'll trust you."

"That all turned out for the best," Kimblee commented casually. Roy mustang still stood a ways away from the action, not wanting to trip and ruin the moment. He held his arm out,

"Would you guide me to Fullmetal, please?" Kimblee stared at him skeptically, before realising that, yes, Mustang was just that clueless.

"I would," He responded drily. "However at the moment, I am smaller than your thumb." Unexpectedly, a large hand descended upon the shoulder he was occupying. Pain crashed through him as the hand patted down the shoulder and found him, curling him into the giant fist. When it opened again, a finger was poking none too gently at his head, arms and legs.

"Stop it," Zolf shouted in panic. "You're breaking bones!" The finger mercifully retreated.

"You must be cold," was all Roy could think to say.

"Well, excuse me if my clothes didn't shrink along with the rest of me!" Zolf huffed. The giant hand moved, knocking him off balance. When it stopped again it was level with Mustang's shoulder. Impatiently, the hand tipped suggestively, knocking him off balance until he rolled off the hand rather than climbed of his own volition. He poked his fingers in the weave of the cloth and desperately held on. Mustang was moving now, and leaning over. All that kept him from falling to the distant ground was his grip in the fabric.

"Hawkeye, wake up." Mustang shook his first lieutenant gently, which had ungentle repercussions to the man swinging from his shoulder.

"Mmmm," Hawkeye woke. "Hold still, there's something hanging off your shoulder." Before either of them could react, Hawkeye's hands were already tugging him off of his precarious perch. "It's a bug," she exclaimed in surprise when she felt it wriggling to escape.

"Actually..." Roy trailed off.

"Attacking a fellow officer," Kimblee accused from beneath her fingers. "Tsk, tsk. I could have you court marshalled for that!" Hawkeye's eyes widened, and she opened her hand to reveal much the same pose he'd inflicted on Ed.

"OHMYGODHEISSOOOCUTE!" Hawkeye squealed in delight at the miniature man in the palm of her hands. Roy interpreted it as an affront to his own appeal, and silently sulked.

"Well, if I'd known I'd inspire this reaction from you, I'd have snuck into your tent back in Ishval." Kimbley smirked.

"Your hands are so small and delicate, your hair is smooth and silky! I'd bet you'd fit in my pocket!"

It was weeks before everything settled down in Central. Though Kimblee's presence had been kept secret, he was by no means free. Locked in Hawkeye's desk drawer, he mused that he still had more sunlight and creature comforts than he ever had in prison. Hawkeye was a very doting jailer, often letting him run about on the top of the desk. Even if he could escape he was powerless, now, his alchemical power shrinking with his size. When Jean threatened to throw him in the trash after discovering his new diminutive form, Zolf had blown up what was, in scale, a considerable size of his arm. He was later heartbroken to hear that the gash in Jean's skin didn't even need stitches.

"Would you like a sandwich?" Hawkeye offered. She set out a doll's chair and table, decorating it as though it were a high end restaurant. He sighed inwardly, if he wanted to eat in peace he'd have to jump through her hoops. "I have the perfect outfit for you to wear!"

"First lieutenant, kindly refrain from playing dolls while on duty," Mustang called from his inner office.

"Sir, I was assigned to imprison and keep watch over the Major by you, personally."

"I don't recall asking you to provide him with romantic dinners and revealing clothing. Tell you what: if there's a candle, I'll light it."

"Fuck you, Mustang!" Kimblee replied. "Like hell you'd light _just_ the candle. Don't take your anger out on me, if I had the option of _your_ desk drawer, utterly sparse, and daily prison rations I'd be hard-pressed to choose." In response, Mustang emptied out the bottom drawer of his desk, then counted the steps to his subordinate. Carefully carrying Kimblee back into his office, he deposited the prisoner in the empty drawer, tossed in a hunk of jerkey from his own lunch, and shut the drawer.

"But sir," Hawkeye protested.

"You'll get him back at the end of the day." Roy placated. Disappointment crossed her face, then she was back to her no-nonsense self. The office door closed.

"Thanks," said the voice from his drawer.

"Equivalent exchange; I owe you a favor," Roy justified.

"You paid it back by not having me executed."

"No, that one was paid. This favor is in exchange for revealing Hawkeye's disturbing side. I was going to seduce her once I was Fuhrer; now I know better."

"You're letting her keep me to distract her from you." Kimbley pouted.

"Better you than me," Roy smirked.


End file.
